


A Wedding in Setauket

by VengefulLibrarian



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Analysis, Character Study, F/M, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VengefulLibrarian/pseuds/VengefulLibrarian
Summary: Edmund and Anna's wedding day as it could have been.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up after the beginning of episode 3x04 (Hearts and Minds).

The wedding day had arrived, its morning crowned with a spectacular sunrise over the bay in Setauket.

All was in readiness. The room was pristine. The coverlet on the bed and the sheets underneath were fresh and unwrinkled. The fireplace held kindling just waiting to be lit.

The bridegroom sat at his desk, personally finishing one last duty. The scarlet of his coat blazed bright, setting off the crisp white of his waistcoat, shirt, and cravat. He wrote with a fine hand and military precision. The missive had begun like all of the others, but this one closed with such delightful news that his outwardly-calm demeanor was undermined by a slight trembling of the quill as he formed the last letters.

_. . . and so, dear Mother, you are gaining a daughter today, and she is the loveliest lady in all of the colonies. As soon as the rebellion allows, I will bring her to meet you. She brings me such joy, and I am sure that you will come to love her as the daughter that you were never granted._

_I must close for the appointed hour is upon me. The next time that I write to you, I will no longer be facing this harsh world alone, and, for that, we are both grateful to the Almighty for His unexpected provision._

_Your devoted son,_  
_Edmund_

He addressed the envelope and replaced his writing instruments, pausing for just an instant to glance about the room that had become something of a sanctuary for him. The next time that he entered here, he would no longer be alone, a thought that both entranced and terrified him.

His gaze fell upon the bed. If he were being honest, he had faced a battlefield with less trepidation. How strange that something— _someone_ —could create such an emotional paradox for him.

He stood purposefully before his nerves took over. In mere moments, the desire of his heart would be his wife. What had once seemed impossible was now within his reach, no matter how surreal it all seemed. Words from a page in a much-loved book floated through his mind as he stepped toward the door:

 _Are you sure_  
_That we are awake? It seems to me_  
_That yet we sleep, we dream._

For weeks, he had felt as if he were living in a dream; but, today, Edmund Hewlett would wed Anna Strong.

–

Anna stood in front of the mirror in her room. _A bride once again,_ she thought. She fingered the details of the dress that she had chosen as her bridal gown. It was one that she'd had made well over a year ago. . . before. . . .

She had intended it to be a new addition to a wardrobe befitting the wife of a prosperous businessman, as she was then. At the time, her life stretched before her in predictable days bathed in bland familiarity. When she had selected the fine fabric and the intricate lace that now graced the sleeves of the gown, if anyone had even suggested that she would wear it to wed the very redcoat officer whose troops had interrupted the placid stillness of her life, she would have thought them a lunatic.

 _Maybe this was lunacy_ , her mind countered. She watched as fear flashed through the eyes reflected in the mirror. _How did it come to this?_ The step that she was taking was, in fact, a bold one, with repercussions that would affect everyone around her, both for good and, possibly, for ill.

A knock at the door caused her to jump.

“Who is it?” Her voice quavered a bit, sounding unsure even to her own ears.

“It's Mary. May I come in?”

“Of course.” The door opened, and Abe's dainty wife stepped into Anna's room. She paused as she looked at Anna.

“Anna!” she gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth. “You're beautiful!”

Those were not words that Anna ever expected to hear from Mary Woodhull. She had wronged Mary in so many ways and could not soon forget it. Mary, however, seemed more willing to allow the past to remain where it was best left. Also, the fact that Anna was marrying another man, further separating her from Abe, likely had something to do with Mary's goodwill toward her as well.

“Thank you, Mary. You are very kind. You have been---especially since--”

“We'll have none of that today, Anna. This is your wedding day, and there is a nervous groom waiting for you downstairs.”

“Is everything set, then? Edmund is ready. . . and the magistrate?”

“All that we need is the bride. The major is, as I said, nervous, but he's absolutely beaming. I think he just wants this over with so that it's said and done. With Father. . . well, you know how Father is, but I--”

“You don't think that he'll try to interfere, do you?”

“On what grounds? You are a widow--of only a brief time, of course, but wartime makes allowances for such things. I don't see where Richard would have any standing. In some ways, he may come to view this as the best outcome, even from his perspective.” Mary spoke confidently, but Anna was not so sure. Richard's disdain for anything involving Anna was no secret, and he had been vocal about his opposition to Edmund's decision to marry her.

It wasn't only Richard that Anna worried about, either. Abe had been incredulous when Anna had told him that she and Edmund would be married; yet, he had largely been the force that had set the resulting events in motion, and his objections rang hollow to her. She had loved the boy once, but experience had changed them both. Abraham Woodhull was a part of her past, no longer anything more.

She hadn't realized the extent of the Woodhulls' rancor toward her until after she received word from Caleb that Selah was dead. One morning shortly after the news broke, Richard cornered her in the dining room with a tight smirk on his face.

“You're husband's death is timely, Mrs. Strong.”

“What are you speaking of, sir?”

“Are you sure that he is eternally departed from us, or is this just another one of your schemes?”

“Schemes? Judge Woodhull, please explain yourself.” Anna felt her pulse quicken even as she tried to keep her features calm.

“Such a short while ago it seemed that it was to have been a divorce that would have allowed your marriage to Major Hewlett. The divorce papers--did Selah sign them on his deathbed? Or were they composed _after_ his death? Or is Selah Strong somewhere alive and well, unaware that his wife is about to commit bigamy?” Anna could feel his breath hot on her face as he hissed. Her stomach twisted as she began to suspect that Abraham's sudden visit to Whitehall in the days before might have have had more to do with further swaying his father's opinion about the wedding than with bringing Thomas to see his grandfather.

“Judge, please--”

“Don't take me for a fool! I have reason to believe that your 'divorce' was nothing more than a fabrication, and I do wonder if Selah is even dead. The timing of his demise is so convenient. But, if these are the lengths to which you will go to accomplish whatever it is that you're trying to do, I think that I may as well watch it go forward. The rebel spy married to the redcoat officer. . . it's far more amusing—and fitting—to see how that plays out.” He eyed her as if she were a worm on a hook, squirming as it fought for its life.

“Good morning, Richard! Anna, dear.” Edmund's voice had never sounded so wonderful to her. He paused as he entered the room, his eyes questioning at Anna as she stepped back from Richard. “Is everything all right?”

“It's fine, Edmund,” Anna said swiftly, stepping to Edmund's side to take his arm. “The judge and I were just discussing—the judge--”

“Property rights,” Richard interjected. “Now that her husband is dead, she was wondering what happens to the remainder of his estate.” Edmund's eyes narrowed as he listened to Richard's explanation, but he let the moment pass, only lightly questioning her about it later.

In spite of Richard's speculation, the man that she had married and had been fully prepared to betray was, in fact, dead. Caleb had assured her that it was true: Selah Strong was no longer with them. He no longer had a say in her life or her choices. Anna did mourn him in a way, although probably not as she should have. He had been a good man, if invariable and somewhat stringent, but he belonged to a part of her life that was over. She felt more sorrow for the broken girl she had been when she married him, something that she could admit to no one but herself.

“Anna?” Mary's voice broke through her thoughts.

“I'm sorry, Mary. What was it?”

“Did you let Caleb know? About the wedding?”

“I was able to speak with him briefly. He wasn't happy, he made that clear, even though he knows that he won't change my mind; but he did agree to keep an eye on things. To Ben and Abe, I am as good as a traitor for what I'm doing. But I had to make a choice, for the good of us all—I just can't stand by and allow the boys that I love to murder a man that I have—that I feel. . . .”

Mary had grown still while Anna spoke, concern creeping into her eyes.

“Anna,” she said softly. “Please tell me that there is more to it than that. If you marry Major Hewlett purely out of duty--”

“Like you did--when you married Abe,” Anna remarked.

“Yes--and no! I had committed to marrying into the Woodhull family. I knew Thomas only a little more than I knew Abe. It was the right thing to do, and I don't regret it. It was difficult at first, and. . . ”she paused, searching for the right words, “as you know, even later, but it has been worth it. I love Abraham now, and I believe that he may be learning to love me. He isn't perfect, but neither am I. We've both done wrong, and we've both hurt each other. But, at the end of the day, I love to share life with him. It's strange and complicated, but he makes me feel alive.”

Anna considered her words before she spoke. “I think that I may have a lot to learn from you, Mary Woodhull. And, no, I'm not marrying Edmund only out of duty. This marriage may save his life, but it is also a new beginning for me. It isn't anything that I ever envisioned; but, up until now, the things that I had planned never turned out as I expected anyway. With Edmund as my husband, my life will no longer be subject to the confines of Setauket. This is a. . . chance for me, and I'm taking it.”

“Also, if you'll permit me to make an observation, Anna, when a man looks at a woman the way Edmund looks at you, it is likely that he will move heaven and earth to secure your happiness. The basis for this marriage is not so fragile and uncertain as you think. It sounds as if you mean this to be a true marriage--?” Mary stopped suddenly. “I'm sorry, Anna, I have overstepped my bounds. I have no right to ask.”

“Possibly so, but I think that you and I may be beyond that considering all that we have faced.” Anna paused and took a deep breath. “It will not be a sham marriage, and it is not just a cover for the spy ring. I will be Edmund's wife. . . in every sense. . . and, should he one day return to his homeland, I will go with him.”

“Have you considered what will happen when—if--he finds out about your role during the war. He is not a man who deals well with disloyalty, perceived or otherwise, as we both know.”

“I have considered it. It will—I know it will impact him greatly. Maybe by that time, I can. . . maybe he will come to understand what I did—what we all had to do, and the choices we had to make.”

A bit of commotion from the main floor alerted them to the fact that their presence would be required shortly. Anna's gaze flickered to the door.

“We should go,” Mary said decidedly, moving to leave.

“Mary, wait.” Anna lightly touched Mary's arm to stop her. “I owe you more than an apology. You have been far more gracious than I could have been given the circumstances; and, if there is any way that I can someday repay you, you must call on me.”

“Just do what you can to help resolve the strife between Major Hewlett and Abe. The major is still of the opinion that Abe must leave Setauket, yet Abe refuses to consider leaving. We can't allow them to destroy each other.”

“I will do what I can. . . for all of us.”

Anna smiled at Abraham Woodhull's wife, once again amazed by the fortitude that was concealed within her small frame and delicate features. Gripped with sudden emotion, Anna pulled Mary into a gentle hug, surprised to feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you, Mary. For everything.”

After a moment, Mary stepped back, observing Anna.

“We need to get you downstairs before you really start to cry. There is a houseful of people here to witness this wedding, and we don't want Major Hewlett's bride to look anything less than radiant.”

Mary opened the door for Anna to step through, both of them pausing in the hallway.

“I'll go on ahead and let them know that you're ready,” Mary said before disappearing down the stairs.

Anna seized the remaining quiet moment to steady her breathing. She glanced toward the heavens, then stepped forward.

\--

The wedding of Major Edmund Hewlett to Anna Smith Strong was over in just minutes.

Anna had thought that she would have been nervous, especially considering the curiosity that their near-scandalous union had drawn from the citizens of Setauket. She felt each probing stare from their critics just as much as she sensed the warm smiles from their supporters. Regardless of which side they fell upon, however, she was certain that most assumed that the haste of the wedding meant that a child was on the way, a thought that amused her because the truth was so vastly different.

The audience was a mixture of men from the regiment and prominent families from the town, and the house felt full. Still, she realized that she missed the presence of her childhood friends, the boys that played a role in nearly every happy memory from her early years, as strange as it would have been for them to have been in attendance. These conflicting thoughts and longings were the only companions that traveled with her as she descended the staircase that day.

Then, into the midst of her internal chaos, Edmund appeared, striding toward her and offering his arm. He was resplendent in scarlet, white, and silver, and he smiled gently at her as she tentatively placed her arm in his. She felt his warmth and steadiness; and, although she never could have predicted it, she was struck by the rightness of her decision to marry this man. Instead of the nerves with which she had assumed she would be dealing, she only felt a tiny thrill of anticipation start to build within her as she realized that she was at the beginning of a new, uncharted journey.

They whisked through the sunlit parlor, a room where they had spent many pleasant evenings in front of the fireplace, to stand before the magistrate from a neighboring town. He spoke the ancient marriage vows, paused appropriately for the assents from the bride and groom, then swiftly acknowledged that Edmund and Anna were, indeed, husband and wife. Only then, Anna released the tense breath that she had been holding.

Richard had not interfered and was no longer in sight. He _had_ been in attendance, Anna had seen him from the corner of her eye, and she was familiar enough with his glare that she knew that she had been the recipient of its searing heat during the entire ceremony. Yet, without protest, the rebel and the redcoat were married, which, for all that Anna could surmise, satisfied Richard's idea of justice.

The next hours were even more of whirl. She and the major made the rounds to greet their guests, and then they were ushered into the dining room to take part in a meal that Anna couldn't later recall ever tasting.

Edmund was rarely far from her side; but, on the few times that he was pulled away, he returned quickly to tuck her hand once again into the crook of his arm. She was sure that they must have spoken to each other, but she had no idea what words they had exchanged. Soon, through the noise and heat of the crowd, she found herself longing for the festivities to end.

Finally, as the wedding guests began to depart, Mary called Aberdeen to escort Anna upstairs before anyone else could corner her. Anna silently blessed Mary and her keen sense of perception. Edmund was still in the foyer accepting some congratulatory words from a wealthy Setauket Tory, but Anna couldn't help glancing back at him. His eyes met hers meaningfully, acknowledging all that lay ahead for them, and the nerves that she had expected much earlier in the day suddenly made themselves known, causing her to trip slightly on the next stair step.

\--

Edmund watched as Aberdeen led Anna away from him. A man, whose name he could not remember even if Simcoe himself had been holding a blade to his neck, continued to drone on. He hoped that he was making appropriate responses, but he could have been agreeing to active participation in a plot to kill King George for all that he knew. Anna Strong was now Anna Hewlett, his wife, and there was nothing that mattered more to him in that moment.

The droning man was soon called away by another acquaintance, clapping Edmund heartily on the back before departing. Edmund saw his window of opportunity to steal away as the remaining guests trickled out of Whitehall's front door. Mary Woodhull, whose graciousness seemed to inform each of her actions even to those who were as undeserving as he, also noticed his attempted escape and moved toward him.

“Major, let me be the _last_ to offer you my congratulations.” She laughed knowingly while also cutting off anyone else who would try to commandeer his attention.

“Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Woodhull. You are the consummate hostess; and, although we are both aware of how little I deserve any favor from you, I hope that you will accept my deep gratitude for all of your efforts today.” Edmund lowered his voice as he spoke the next words. “The situation with Abraham is—troublesome. I can only imagine how you miss him; and, if such an outcome exists, I will continue to work toward something that benefits us all.”

“Major, I appreciate anything that you can do,” Mary whispered. “It's been a long day for all. Let's speak of it later. If you don't mind, I'll have the servants bring up a tray for you both in the morning. I am assuming that you likely won't join the rest of us at breakfast.”

Edmund wasn't really certain why she didn't expect—oh. He felt his breath catch a bit as he realized her meaning.

“Oh, well, um, thank—thank you, Mary. That would be—I mean, that is--”

“Major,” she stopped him with a knowing smile. “It's of no account. Please, go be with your wife.”

He managed to nod at her before looking up at the stairs in front of him. The moment had come. Taking a deep breath and trying to gather whatever courage he could, he placed a foot on the bottom step.

 --

Edmund's room was warm. The dear servants had seen that the fireplace was glowing by the time Anna had entered, so the chilly tremor that ran through her now had nothing to do with the temperature. It was fear or anticipation. Possibly both.

The attraction that she felt toward Edmund was complex, but it was attraction. She had become certain of that, surprising though it had been, the first night that he had kissed her in Whitehall's study. There had been a few other kisses during their short engagement, most of them stolen during brief moments when they were alone.

In his arms, the past began to pale and feelings that she had thought dead began to awaken. It had been a new experience for her to be held so sweetly and cautiously by a man, and she found herself pulling him in closer. . .  at first, because she wanted to forget; but, later, because she was wanting more.

So, no, attraction was not a concern of Anna's. Instead, she was aware of a sense of finality about this night. She knew that, by sharing Edmund's bed, she was committing herself to this path that she had so unwittingly set upon all those months ago. Not only would this be Edmund's first experience with marital love, something that she knew he did not take lightly at all, but there was always the possibility of a new life being conceived. Either way, their wedding night would bind their futures in a way that was not easily undone. Anna had thought that she was prepared for it all. Now, it was time to follow through.

Aberdeen had helped with the unlacing of her stays and the unpinning of her hair before leaving Anna to complete her preparations for bed alone. Unsure of what to do while she waited for her groom, she finally decided to pull the covers back from his bed and climb underneath them. She plumped the pillow behind her and tried to get comfortable while she looked around his room.

She had been in this room many times before but never from her current perspective. Everything was extremely orderly, as was to be expected knowing Edmund. The light from the candles placed throughout the room merged with the firelight to cast a shadowed glow that warmed the walls and faintly lit Jacob More's lovely landscape. She noticed that the air itself smelled like Edmund, a scent with which she was now familiar: leather and linen and shaving soap. She breathed it in, feeling a sense of comfort.

Her mind drifted back to that day in the church when she had begged Edmund the reconsider the details of the attainder. She recalled how she had despised him then, the British officer with his aristocratic accent and manner, superiority flowing from every decree. _How little I knew then,_ she thought wryly as she also remembered the same man tentatively inviting her to accompanying him to Mary's party at Whitehall, trying and only barely succeeding in projecting his former assuredness.

She had agreed that day, and that had led her to this moment in his room. _Would I still have agreed if I had known the outcome?_ she couldn't help but wonder. The question was a logical one, but no longer a fair one. The time for that had passed.

Anna had almost relaxed when she heard Edmund's steps outside the room, the slight pause as one foot tread a bit more heavily than the other. The doorknob turned, and the redcoat that she had once wanted dead entered the room. The very impossibility of their relationship was not lost on her in that moment.

He closed the door lightly and locked it behind him. Then he paused, whether to gather his thoughts or because he was uncertain in how to proceed, Anna wasn't sure.

“Anna. . . ” he began, not quite looking at her. She felt her own nerves quake, but she spoke in a confident voice that belied her feelings.

“Edmund?” she smiled at him.

“I'm sorry, my dear, for the delay. Everyone wanted to offer their congratulations, and I couldn't get away.” He glanced down at his hand that rested on the ornamental sword that he still wore, the seconds slowly passing.

 _It's now or never,_ Anna thought. She had learned that, sometimes, it was the fear of the decision that was the mistake, not the decision itself. Jumping from a boat had changed the course of her life; and, she hoped, had begun the process of her redemption, something that couldn't have happened if she had given in to the fear of the leap.

“Edmund, look at me.” He glanced up and followed her order. “Please,” she said, extending her hand, “come here.” She moved closer to the center of the bed so that he would have room to sit.

He did as he was bid and crossed the room to sit next to her, taking her offered hand. She felt the warmth of his hand encircle hers, but she sensed that his pulse quickened and his breath had grown shallow just as her own had. She looked into his eyes, and she saw the ranging emotions travel through his eyes. . . uncertainty first, followed by admiration, and then desire.

“Anna,” he breathed. “You're so very beautiful.” He brought his free hand up to gently touch her face as he gazed at her, transfixed.

“Major Edmund Hewlett of His Majesty's Army,” she smiled, studying his face. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And, now. . . I may have married Major Hewlett, but. . . it is Edmund that I want.”

With that, she softly pulled his face toward hers, reaching up with her other hand to remove his expensive wig. She laid it aside and then pulled back to look at him. He looked different with his short, dark hair. It made him seem younger, amost boyish, and that endeared him even more to her. She couldn't resist lifting a hand to run her hand through his hair, delighting in the feel of the closely-shorn pieces skimming across her fingers. Apparently, he minded less than she had expected, because he quickly dove in for another kiss. Minutes later, Edmund's officer's regalia was laid aside, and all reminders that they were on different sides were gone.

On that night, they were just a man and a woman, and they lost themselves in a world where they could forget the war and the pain and the conflict that had brought them together.

\--

Edmund was surprised when he awoke at his usual time, the weak light just beginning to glimmer around the edges of the drapery. For as little sleep as he had actually gotten, he felt wide awake. His eyes immediately went to the figure beside him.

There lay Anna, her unbound hair spread across the pillow, a few ringlets draped tantalizingly over one shoulder exposed by the wide neckline of her shift. Her lips were slightly parted as she breathed evenly. His initial response was to look away, an instinct long drilled into him by his mother who had demanded the utmost respect in the presence of a woman; but the realization of their changed status washed over him. This was his wife— _his wife!_ \--and he had seen a whole lot more of her during their night together.

He felt his face heat as he recalled her lush curves and how she had allowed him to worship each one with his hands and lips while she responded beneath his touch. He now allowed his eyes to linger upon her as he lay still, not wanting to wake her. _She must be exhausted_ , he thought, _this wild lass of mine._

The memories of the preceding hours filled his mind. When he had entered his room and saw Anna waiting for him in his bed, he was made speechless. She was a vision in a simple shift, her beautiful hair draped around her shoulders. It was as if she were a bronze goddess made flesh in the candlelit room.

What followed were moments that defied description. He would always think of them as a series of lights and shadows—his hesitance, Anna's calm reassurance, flickering candlelight, hands and bare limbs, warmth and joy, her skin, her breath against his skin. . . .

_I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine. . . ._

He now permitted himself the luxury of reaching over to her to lightly coil one of her curls around his finger. The back of his hand just barely brushed her shoulder, and he savored the feel of her skin against his. A sliver of recollection from the night before surfaced, and he remembered the first time he had run his hand from her shoulder blade to the rise of her hip, amazed that softness of her skin would rival the finest silk on any queen's robes

 _Fire and heart. . . and silk,_ he mused, _such disparate materials that made up the fabric of this delightful woman._

Their night together had been even more beautiful than he had imagined. They had begun slowly. The process itself was elegantly simple, like a strange symphony that was unlearned but somehow familiar. As they grew more comfortable with each other, Anna merely moved his hands strategically once or twice, and passion took over. Thought and reason left him while sensation remained. He was not in total control, and, for once, he was not concerned with that in the least.

Later—he was uncertain how long, for time had no bearing just then in their private realm-- Anna lay next to him, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. She seemed content—happy, even, unless he was misreading her mood. At the very least, some of their earlier awkwardness with each other had dissipated, and they were able to recount some of the events of their wedding day.

“Anna, the poets themselves have not written the words to describe how happy you have made me,” Edmund told her, his free hand playing with the ends of her hair. He was as fascinated with her flowing locks as she seemed to be with his hair. Several times already, she had brushed her fingers over the short pieces at the nape of his neck.

She had smiled up at him in response, relaxing further into his side. But, after several seconds had passed, she said, “Edmund, this moment, our wedding—it's so beautiful, but, even now, it feels like it could just go away. We have so much against us. Simcoe, even Richard. . . .” she trailed off.

“Shh, my darling. Let's not speak of that—of them. Not tonight.” He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, relishing the scent of rose water. “Tonight is now. It's us. There is nothing else that need concern you.” Just words, those reassurances, but that was all he could offer then.

Edmund wanted so badly to remain awake, to memorize every minute of the night; but, sometime in the dark hours, they had both drifted off.

Minutes or hours later, Edmund was surprised awake by Anna leaning over him in the dark to brush her lips against his. After a moment, she lifted her head, and tendrils of her hair swept across his bare chest. Not quite awake and nearly convinced that he was caught in a vivid dream, his eyes snapped open. Anna was there, warm and sweet and apparently wanting  _him_. . . to Edmund, it bordered on the miraculous.

Anna pulled his face to hers, nipping his lower lip with her teeth. The firelight was very low in the grate, and he could just make out the challenge in the glint of her eyes when they flashed to his. He decided to meet her challenge, so he wrapped his arm around her back and boldly pushed himself up, flipping her over. Apparently, she had deemed his earlier efforts worthy of repeating; and, while their first time had been tender and slow, this was heated and consuming, releasing all of the built-up tension of the previous weeks.

_Fire and heart and silk. . . ._

Now, he watched as the curl from her hair twisted and bounced back as it slipped off his finger. Although they had managed to replace some of their clothing before falling asleep again, she in her shift, he in his linen drawers, he noticed that the room had grown cool. As quietly as possible, he slid from the bed to in order to add more wood to the fire.

The flames sparked suddenly with the addition of the fuel, and, still kneeling by the hearth, he glanced back at the bed. Anna moved slightly, but he didn't think that she had completely woken. Looking around the room, he spotted his discarded white shirt lying near the chair. Retrieving it, he pulled it over his head and shrugged his arms into the sleeves. He might be married to this woman, but, in the event that she should awaken, he wasn't completely ready to abandon all sense of decorum around her.

He stood and stretched--a few muscles felt stiff in ways that were new to him—and walked over to stand for a moment by her side of the bed. She had rolled to her side, one hand placed delicately beneath her cheek. _Oh, my love,_ his heart sang.

He prayed that he had not done a very selfish thing in marrying her, especially in the haste in which it had all happened. That day when she had admitted that she was considering leaving Whitehall, even he wasn't sure what sort of relationship he was offering her. He just couldn't lose her. . .he craved her very presence, even in the mundane things. To lose that. . . he felt that it would have been easier to face another captivity than to try to endure the remainder of this war without Anna nearby, sharing meals at his side and walking the grounds of Whitehall with him as dusk draped herself around them. Even if all she would have accepted from him was his companionship, he would have made himself content that he was near her.

When she had agreed to _marry_ him, his first thought was that he had misheard her. Once it had all finally registered, even with the shadow of the divorce, there was very little that he would not do to see it come to pass. Selah's death had made it all easier, God rest his poor, deluded soul. Perhaps there had been elements of selfishness after all, but he would give his final moments to ensuring her happiness if it came to that.

Treading quietly on the wooden floor, he crossed back to his side of the bed, momentarily taking delight in the fact that now he had a _side_. For the first time in his life, he now shared a bed with someone. His wife. . . his beautiful Anna. . . .

Slowly stretching back under the blankets to lie next to her, he resumed his study of her. He almost chuckled as he considered how absolutely appalled she would be to know how much attention she was receiving while she slept.

They still had several hours before anyone in the household would expect them to make an appearance--possibly much of the day. Regardless, Edmund had begun to wish that he had agreed to Anna's suggestion to take a short trip to New York after the wedding so that they could have spent more time alone together with no prying Woodhulls or other nosy citizens about. What was done was done, though. He would take her there once they knew that the madman Simcoe was no longer a concern.

In the early morning quiet with the rush of the previous hours behind him, Edmund now allowed his mind to go _there_. . . to the unspoken fear that he carried that had only magnified with the passing days. Anna, perceptive and brilliant as always, was right. They did have much against them.

Even if Simcoe was dead, Abraham Woodhull was now a larger threat than he could have imagined. The knowledge that Edmund carried was enough to make him a target. It was also enough to cause him to keep Abraham's secret for the time being. If he revealed the younger Woodhull as a spy, Abraham or even Richard now had enough evidence to implicate Edmund himself. If either of them turned in the other, one or both of them hanged. He couldn't do that to Anna.

Anna's past mattered little to him, but he knew that she had long been caught in a complicated relationship with the Woodhull clan. For her sake, he had to keep the peace for whatever time possible. More than once since Anna had come to live at Whitehall—even just in the recent days—he had walked into a room occupied by Anna and Richard and had quickly realized that he had interrupted some sort of tense conversation, one that almost had the feeling of a negotiation. When he had broached the subject with Anna, she had brushed it off.

“It's nothing, really, Edmund,” she had said, placing her fingertips along his jaw, a movement that was now becoming sweetly familiar. “It's just that, as long as I live and breathe, my father will never be truly dead to Richard Woodhull and the feud will never really be over.”

Edmund had accepted her words on the surface, but something about them nagged at him. Anna had said the words a little too brightly, as if they were rehearsed. A deflection, possibly? But from what?

He pushed the thoughts away. Suspicion had no place in the present moment. He and Anna had just begun a new life together, and the possibilities of their future were endless. Regardless of the mistakes of their pasts, their lives were linked in a new start. They were now a family, and---his heart caught mid-beat as it occurred to him that there could even be future additions to their family.

For the first time in his life, he was in danger of becoming a father, and the thought brought him endless joy. Even now, it was not impossible after what they had done in the hours following their wedding that Anna could be--

“Mmmmm,” came a sound from next to him. His bride was waking up.

Edmund watched Anna as her eyes fluttered, then opened. For a fleeting second, she looked at him in confusion. But then she smiled, and his heart soared.

“Good morning, Major Hewlett.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Hewlett.”

**Author's Note:**

> \--I love these two like they were my own children. Mama Librarian just wants everyone happy.
> 
> \--I am hopeful that season four will give us some good stuff for the children. They need it. We need it.
> 
> \--Gracious, why do I get so bloomin' wordy about these two? Seriously.
> 
> \--I never intend to write Mary Woodhull into my stories, but she just shows up. Hi, Mary! She reminds me of a spicy chocolate cupcake--from the outside, it's just a pleasant, little chocolate frosted cupcake, then you bite in and that cayenne hits you in the back of the throat after about five seconds. Not what you were expecting. Love her!
> 
> \--At first, I couldn't justify the idea of Anna realistically marrying the major so quickly after a divorce or even a death, but then I realized that I was stuck on the Victorian concept of mourning periods. Once I actually did some research on mourning during this era (yo, 'tis a good thing when trying to write a historically-based fic), it seems that a quick remarriage following a death would not have been completely impossible, although there likely would have been more time between the events than I allow for in this fic. Remarriage after a spouse's death was expected and encouraged at this point in history, especially for someone in Anna's circumstances. Life expectancy and war and all that meant that a first marriage was often quite pragmatic and a remarriage was sometimes a necessity for survival.
> 
> \--There do seem to be some lingering reports/myths/tales of women camp followers who were required to marry a soldier within days to remain with the camp, but I did not come across a whole lot of evidence to support those in my admittedly-short research period. I did find some reports of a widow or two who remarried other soldiers about two to three months following the deaths of their first husbands. That doesn't fully support the superquickie Annlett marriage here, but whatevs.
> 
> \--The timeline on Turn, especially in the Setauket sequences in 3x03 and 3x04, seems a little murky to me at this point anyway, so I rolled with it. They just needed to be married, 'kay?
> 
> \--I also think that the major is not beyond paying off that other magistrate guy to just get on with it. When our good major is spurred to action, stuff happens, y'all. Exhibit A: Tackling the six-foot whatever Simcoe in seasons one and two. Exhibit B: Cutting off his own toes. Exhibit C: Wedding night according to my version of events. Whoooo, doggies! He ain't throwin' away his shot.
> 
> \--Dear Burn Gorman,  
> Why are you so intriguing?  
> Sincerely,  
> The Librarian  
> Seriously, though, if anyone has figured this out, please let me know. He is my musiest of muses and I adore him and I don't understand.
> 
> \--Sappy McSapperson's Cliched Song Suggestion: You and Me by Lifehouse


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